What do you want from me? It's not how it used to be...

The more time passes, the more scared I am.

I could bear it when this body was a curiosity -- but familiarity really does breed contempt. The worst part is that this body, with all its femaleness, doesn't always feel wrong... and I'm left wondering if that's the curse. If it's part of "losing myself" that will trap me this way.

I'm a mess. I make everything worse for the family -- more confusing, for sure -- and since I'm no longer of any use to them... what's the point in staying?

I don't want to say something so extreme as "I should have stayed dead", because dying fucking sucked and dead can't be much better. But... things are simpler without me, and they always have been. My coming back from the dead was a headache that nobody needed -- not Bruce, not Dick, not Alfred, not Babs, not me.

I wish it hadn't happened at all. I wish I'd never gone back to my old neighborhood, that I never knew about my Mom not being my birth mom.

(Catherine Johnson Todd was my Mom -- the woman who gave birth to me isn't worthy of the title.)

I wish

But what does it matter what I wish? What I want? The wishing and the wanting isn't going to change what is.